Tale of Years: 1931
by Jessica314
Summary: Third installment in a series of Twilight Prequels. Edward finds himself unable to continue his vigilante lifestyle, and returns home to Carlisle and Esme. 100% Canon Friendly.
1. Alone

Disclaimer: The Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer; no profit is made here, and no offense intended.

**EPOV**

I sat alone on a park bench, staring into the icy depths of the Hudson. I was enjoying New York City; its night life provided me with an endless menu of criminals, from the worthless thugs to the crime lords. Of course, I had been careful not to take anyone whose death would merit too much attention from the newspapers; it would require a quick departure on my part, and I had truly enjoyed the last six months here.

I had spent the last four years moving from city to city, spending a few months in each. After Columbus, I had gone on to St. Louis, Portland, Knoxville, Montreal, and a dozen others. But not Chicago- never Chicago. It was superstitious nonsense to think that my dead human parents would somehow feel my presence, but I avoided it nonetheless. Somehow it seemed wrong to hunt there, like I should spare that city from the stain of my… activities. I also avoided the southern states; they were too populated with vampires already, and the shadow of the wars was still lingering. Each city had its own identity, its own rhythm. The farther North I went, the more freedom I had as the weather grew harsher and less sunny. My last stop had been Denver, and although I always stayed in the city, I had found the surrounding nature breathtaking. I had left only because the newspapers were just beginning to print light-hearted stories about the "army of angels" who had supposedly been dealing death to criminals in the heart of the city. I knew from experience that I needed to leave before the reporters started taking my actions seriously. I had thought it best to move far away from the stories; that was how I had chosen New York City as my next hunting ground.

I frowned at the name I had been given by the reporters in Denver. Army of angels, indeed. This was a far cry from the truth of what I was. Demon. Monster. Villain. Grim Reaper. These were just a few of the identities assigned me by my prey, in those brief moments in which they realized they were about to die. Many of my targets never saw me coming, and I was spared their terrorized thoughts. The usual scenario was one human attacking another, his mind betraying his plans for murder, rape , robbery, kidnapping, or whatever else was on the agenda that night. Whenever possible, I would try to catch the assailant before they reached their victim, and I was able to feast in private, my prey never knowing what hit him. But too often, I wasn't able to do this.

This was partly because of my vow to only hunt those who were committing the most atrocious crimes; sometimes I would follow a man for hours as he deliberated his plans to kill, and he would eventually decide not to go through with the murder after all. If he had never killed before, and seemed to truly renounce his plot, then I would leave him in peace. After all, if I killed all those guilty of murderous thoughts, the whole city would be awash with blood. I made it my habit to wait until I was sure that my prey deserved my judgment.

Another reason I wasn't always able to hunt in private was because I often didn't know of the crime until it was being committed. Sometimes, I was too late, and I could only avenge the wrong already committed. Fortunately, because of my ability, I was often able to intervene. Three nights ago, a common scenario had played out: I was walking the streets of the Bronx at night, keeping the net of my ability thrown wide. Around two o'clock I picked up the excited thoughts of some villain as he closed in behind his unsuspecting victim. _Lonnie won't know what hit him, and I'm gonna be rich. I saw how much he won tonight! But a dead man won't miss his winnings, will he?_ This was my cue to hurry toward them; in the villain's thoughts, I could see his target a mere two hundred feet ahead of him, and, to my luck, a sign reading "Elm/Thirteenth" was also visible from his point of view.

It had been the easiest thing in the world to find them; my prey already had Lonnie backed up against a dumpster, knife in hand. I would have preferred to complete my hunt without involving Lonnie, but it was too late for that. I stepped out from the shadows and, gliding up behind my prey, whispered in his ear, "You're right, you won't miss them at all." Before he could react, I grabbed his shoulders and threw him into the wall behind us, stunning him. Nothing fancy, and nothing a well-trained human couldn't do. Lonnie backed away from me, shaking his head dumbly and wondering if I had just rescued him or sealed his doom. I waited impatiently as he stumbled out of the alley; he was safe and I hadn't revealed anything untoward about myself. When he was out of sight, I turned back to my prey, who was coming back to his senses. As I stalked toward him, I saw myself through his eyes as the light of the streetlamp fell on me: a tall, red-eyed menace, teeth gleaming as my lips curled back in anticipation.

Like every other time, I kept my vow to kill quickly and painlessly. He died without a sound, but as often happens, I was left with the memory of his thoughts as he watched his doom approach, wondering what sort of creature had come to claim him. They were seared into my flawless memory forever, along with hundreds of others. I shuddered as memories of countless other men's final thoughts flooded through my mind, unbidden. I hated watching myself kill, and I cursed the ability of my species to remember every detail, of every hunt, for eternity.

I wasn't always hunting, of course. While I made no effort to form relationships with humans, I didn't shy away from their company like many nomads would. I sometimes rode the Subway, and I felt comfortable walking the streets after dusk. I went shopping when my clothes needed to be replaced; I had even attended a few baseball games. I could only attend night games; not only was the sunshine a threat to my anonymity, but my red eyes were difficult to hide in daylight. I generally hunted three or four times a week, more if a particularly rotten mind crossed my path. I took care to never hunt too often in one part of the city; New York was spread out enough to make this an easy task. On the nights I wasn't thirsty, I would perch on top of a high rise and watch the city as it slept. I had even spent a few nights atop the Statue of Liberty, gazing back at the city lights and telling myself how lucky its citizens were to have me.

Times were changing in New York, and in cities and towns across America. The stock market had finally crashed two years ago, and the resulting chaos was echoing in the thoughts and fears of everyone I encountered. Even in this city of opportunity and dreams, so many men had lost their livelihood and families of every race were sharing the sinking fear that America might not be able to answer their dreams, after all. Earlier this year, President Hoover himself had finally acquiesced to the fact that America's economy was still in the grips of a great depression. It mattered little to me; as a human, I had never had any sort of financial concerns, and when I had lived with Carlisle, money was never an object, or even much of a necessity. Now that I was my own man, I had even less need for it; the little I spent on bus tickets and clothing was easily pilfered out of the pockets of those I had hunted. I carried nothing with me, and I hadn't a care in the world.

I stood up from the bench, digging the toe of my shoe into the frozen mud as I admitted to myself that this wasn't true. I often thought of Carlisle and Esme. They had surely moved on by now, once they realized I wasn't going to return. Carlisle had mentioned a few times that our next destination would probably be the house in upstate New York. I gazed across the Hudson toward the northwest, squinting as if I could see them right now, and I swallowed as I realized that this was the closest I might ever be to them again. It was almost eleven o'clock at night; Carlisle would already be busy in his night shift at some local hospital, saving lives as only he could. Esme was probably at home, putting the finishing touches on some piece of furniture she had restored. When Carlisle got home in the early morning hours, perhaps they would go hunting together in the Adirondacks.

Did they ever think of me? Did Esme worry about whether I was happy? Was Carlisle relieved that I had left, or was he gazing back at me now, wishing I would contact them? I had thought about doing so, and had found myself standing in the telegraph office more than once. But what could I say that wouldn't add to their worry? And I could never call them; I was too afraid of what they might say, or ask. No, I thought it better to leave my fate to their imaginations. I hoped that they were happy. Their "human" lives were quite full, after all. At least Carlisle's was. I felt a familiar pang of guilt as I thought of Esme and the bond I had shared with her. She had gotten so much joy from fussing over me, and taking an interest in my school studies and piano playing. Was her mother's heart ever to love another, after me? Was it possible that Carlisle had changed someone new in my absence? Or would he refuse, considering what he surely considered to be his failure with me?

I turned abruptly, leaving my past behind me, across the river. I stared ahead at Manhattan. _This_ was my life now. I took in the ever-present hum of thoughts and dreams arising from the city before me. As a mind-reader in a large city, this was my favorite time of day. It was rather like the twilight that could be visually perceived a few hours earlier, but this was an audible twilight. The tangled buzz of thoughts was settling into a lower key as thousands of citizens drifted off to sleep and began their dreams. I let out a sigh of relief. Night offered me some small respite as the minds of thousands of New Yorkers settled into a dreamlike cadence, but also decreased in volume. Now that I was feeding on human blood, my ability allowed me to hear the thoughts in nearly a four-mile radius- nearly a mile wider than when I had been on the animal diet. While this had its advantages, it also added that many more voices, and I was never quite able to relax. I chose, however, to stay near the city. While I disliked the constant buzzing in my mind, at least it provided sufficient distraction from the types of thoughts I had just been entertaining as I stood by the river. I looked up at the city again, and in imitation of the humans around me, I pulled the collar of my trench coat closer around my throat, and headed toward Manhattan.

I hadn't eaten since the thug three nights ago. My thirst was a growing fire in my throat, and I glanced at the few passersby near me, idly sampling their thoughts. I found no evidence of the sort of thoughts that deserved my attention; but no matter, I was saving my appetite for tonight. Two hours from now, I was going to do something I had never done before. Due to the nature of my hunting style, my meals usually consisted of a single person; this was the reason I had to hunt so often. My thirst was hardly ever truly sated, but at least it was easier to cover my tracks this way. Occasionally I would stumble upon two or three gang members as they made their way to a job, but that was rare. Tonight, however, I had a dinner reservation, and the meal was sure be satisfying. At one o'clock, I was going to be on Coney Island, and I was going to take on the Mafia.


	2. Secrets and Silk

**A/N: Chapters Two and Three will be a flashback of Edward's first six months in New York. **

When I first arrived in New York, I began wandering around Manhattan, spending much of my time in East Harlem and Little Italy. I was trying to get a feel for where most of the crime was happening, so I could map out what hunting grounds I wanted to try. It didn't take long, however, for me to realize that I had stumbled into the heart of organized crime. I was fascinated as I listened to the thoughts around me, piecing together the turbulent histories of the families currently grappling for power within the Mafia. There had been established factions present in the city for several years, but times were changing and there was talk of power becoming more centralized.

Initially, I followed these developments with some small amount of interest. I told myself that these were human problems, and didn't concern me. As a predator who preferred to hunt alone, however, I was annoyed by the level of power that the bosses wielded over the lives in the city. I was used to feeling a sense of total dominance over my hunting grounds, but now I found myself compelled to avoid certain prey when their thoughts alerted me to their membership in any faction of the Mafia. I had no reason to fear any human institution, but I intended to stay for awhile, and to do that, I needed them to remain unaware of my presence.

As the weeks went on, I felt myself increasingly drawn to the rising drama playing out within the Mafia. My annoyance gradually shifted to intrigue as I learned more about the world of organized crime. Right beneath the polished surface of high society, the Castellamarese War had been raging for almost four years. Bosses from the major families were all bidding for supreme power over all the factions. The two main contenders were Joe "The Boss" Masseria and Salvatore Maranzano. Just before Christmas, I overheard someone thinking about Masseria's tendency to spend time at the exclusive Venezia restaurant in East Harlem. I had an inexplicable desire to understand this man, and those like him, so I decided to begin frequenting the restaurant.

My first night in the Venezia started out as a disappointment. Not only was the restaurant small and cramped, but it smelled strongly of fish. I sat alone in a booth, swirling my cold coffee for over an hour as I tried to sift through the thoughts around me. Something wasn't right; I was hearing far too many different minds, compared to the small crowd here in the dining room with me. I looked around again, counting the patrons in the dining room, but I simply could not account for all the nearby thoughts I was hearing. Intrigued, I decided to focus my attention on the thoughts of a man who appeared to be the owner. I had noticed him disappearing a few times into the kitchen, though he never seemed to bring any food out. I closed my eyes and followed him mentally, watching through his eyes as he passed through the kitchen doors again.

He breezed right past the chefs as they worked, picking up a small plate at the end of the huge counter. The plate was a study in fine Italian cuisine; nothing like this was being served, as far as I could tell. Sure enough, the man didn't head back toward the dining room. Instead, he made his way toward the back of the kitchen, pushing through another set of doors. As they opened, my mystery was solved: he was now walking into the _real_ dining room, several times larger than the one I was sitting in, and far more opulent. The space was lit by a dozen huge chandeliers, and the owner's heels clicked as he crossed the marble floor, finally setting the plate down with a flourish in front of a familiar face. I had seen Masseria in the thoughts of dozens of New Yorkers, and here he was, hidden behind the kitchen. As the restaurant owner turned around to come back, I took in every bit of his view that I could: the soft music, the dancing, the crowd around each table, dressed to the nines. Every lady seemed to sparkle with jewels, or have some expensive fur on her dress or coat, and the men were dashing in their tailored suits. I frowned at this; my whole plan had been to sit unnoticed in the restaurant, listening to the minds about me at my leisure. But I found it difficult to get a purchase on Masseria's thoughts from my seat in the front dining room; I had never heard his spoken voice before, and had no way to identify him in the sea of thoughts and voices between us. And even if I were to find the entrance to the private room, and secure any necessary passwords, my attire would draw every eye in the room to me. I looked down at my rumpled trench coat, and the light blue dress shirt and tan slacks I was wearing. I knew if I had any hope of spending time anywhere near Masseria, I was going to need a change of wardrobe. I glanced at my reflection in the window, noting with satisfaction the muddy color of my eyes. I hadn't eaten in several days, and as long as I didn't let anyone get a close look, nobody would notice the dark red tinge of my "brown" irises. I didn't relish the thought of interacting closely with a human, but if I was going to fit in, I needed a suit of the highest quality, with a tailored cut.

Later that same evening I was being fitted for a double-breasted gray silk suit and a matching fedora. I had never attempted to dress for a particular part before, and sheepishly confided in the tailor that I was enamored with gangsters and wished to look the part in order to impress the girl I was going steady with. He grinned knowingly and brought out a pair of wingtip shoes to complete the ensemble. I looked utterly ridiculous, and told him so. He shrugged, his smile still plastered on his face; his thoughts were only of the roll of cash I had casually handed him upon entering his shop. I rushed out of the shop as soon as he was finished, filling my lungs with the frigid air outside. I had been in control the whole time, but it had been years since I spent so much time that close to a human, and my throat had been burning the whole time. I did take some pride in the fact that I was able to get through the tailoring session without my thirst ruining everything; I had even spoken to the man a few times. Proud of my self control, I went on a celebratory hunt, drinking very little so that my eyes would be back to their muddy color by the time my suit was ready.

Two nights later, I had my suit and was attracting the attention of every lady in the vicinity as I walked up to the Venezia. Instead of entering the restaurant as I had done before, I walked around to the alley where I had seen a waitress carrying a bag of kitchen scraps. I entered the alley and walked past the restaurant's dumpster, noting with surprise how long the alley was. I saw now that the restaurant was backed by an abandoned warehouse, which I now realized was the front for the private dining room. I had seen similar arrangements where speakeasies were hidden from view, and knew there had to be another entrance. I strolled back and forth around the three exposed sides of the warehouse, waiting until I saw an woman in a luxurious mink coat step out of a Rolls Royce. I waited as she rapped twice on a worn-out looking door, not a hundred yards from where I stood. The door opened and she disappeared. I was disappointed; I had been hoping to overhear the password. Of course, this wasn't like the sleazy nightclubs I was used to visiting when I was hunting; this was a high-quality establishment. The lady in the mink coat was obviously a regular, and was waved in without having to utter a silly password. I stood for another two hours in the alley, waiting impatiently for the man at the door to think something useful. Finally, he recalled letting a newcomer in earlier that day; the password was some Italian gibberish I had never heard before. I sauntered over toward the door and knocked twice. The door opened and I gave what I hoped was an approximation of the password. The man grunted and pushed the door further open for me. I stepped into a dimly lit hallway, and headed for the door on my left, where the music seemed to be coming from.

I blinked as I entered the dining room; it was even larger than I had assumed from the owner's viewpoint two day ago. There had to been at least two hundred people in here. But unlike the fishy, cramped dining room out front, this crowd was sprawled across a huge room that surely took up most of the "warehouse". There were several different tiers of flooring; some tables had their own platform. I found myself comparing my surroundings to the nightclubs I had visited in other cities, and was astonished at the differences. There was gambling, to be sure, but instead of crumpled dollars on the tables, there were bright, round chips in neat stacks, and several of the tables had uniformed attendants running the games. The bar on the rightmost wall had only a few well-dressed patrons standing by it, and the employees behind the bar were uniformed as well, going about their work silently and with decorum. Everything in the room held an air of elegance, from the music to the dancing to the decor. The smell of the food was still offensive, but at least the oily cloud of fish odor wasn't hanging everywhere.

A tiny waiter popped up in front of me, and waved his hand toward an empty table; thankfully, it was in one of the darker corners. I sat down and when he stood there waiting expectantly, I ordered a double scotch. He nodded, and disappeared. I was pleased to notice an attractive potted plant on my table; it would serve to help me gradually empty my glass throughout the night. I leaned forward, letting my hair fall over my eyes so that I could look around the room without attracting attention. I found Masseria seated at one of the higher tables, and eagerly tuned into to his thoughts. But immediately I sighed in frustration; of course he was thinking in Italian. Why hadn't I foreseen this? I resolved to learn Italian over the course of the next week. The night wasn't a total loss; several of the younger people in the room thought in English, and I learned quite a bit from them.

As the night wore on, people were thinking and talking less about business and more about the upcoming holidays. As they grew more tired and drunk, I knew I had gotten all I was going to get for the night. I left a neat pile of money on the table and walked out. As I made my way back to the high rise roof where I had stored my other clothes, I reflected on the rumors I had just overheard.

Matters within the Mafia were coming to a head. Assassinations were happening frequently now, and in the past few weeks, there had been rumors of talks between Masseria and Maranzano. I found this intriguing; why would two bosses from enemy factions want to talk? Perhaps there was more to this "war" than met the eye.


	3. Boss of Bosses

**A/N: This chapter continues the flashback, bringing us back up to the present.**

Over the next week, I made good on my vow to learn Italian. I spent countless hours at the library, poring over language textbooks, maps of Italy and old newspapers. After I had mastered the written language and several regional variants, I spent the rest of the week loitering outside of Italian cafes, small businesses and even a few homes where I overheard Italian being spoken. I stopped only twice to hunt, taking care to feed no later than midweek so my eyes could return to their muddy color by the weekend.

By nightfall on Friday I felt confident in my fluency, and spoke the password easily as I entered through the alley door again. I took my place at the same table as before and began to sift through the minds in the room. Ah! There he was. Masseria's thoughts were now open to me, along with several other minds I had been unable to understand the week before. These were mostly the older associates, some older than Masseria himself. I had brought a newspaper to use as a prop tonight, and opened it now. I held it up to block my view; I had no need to use my own eyes to observe those around me. When I wanted to watch someone, I simply used the mind of the person sitting across from them.

Beneath the surface of the casual conversations and laughter, almost everyone in the room was thinking about business tonight; an associate of Masseria's had just been murdered earlier that day and everyone was reevaluating their loyalties. I spent the next several hours enthralled by the minds before me. I had had no idea of the scope of organized crime here in New York. Even with the research I had done beforehand, it was difficult to unravel the roles that each of the major families played locally, and the commerce that was flowing through the Mafia in general. The people in this room had access to hundreds of local businesses, immense amounts of wealth, complex gang structures, countless black market platforms, and even a booming prostitution industry. The smuggling of alcohol was another especially lucrative trade, its success fueled by Prohibition. I easily identified at least thirty men in the room who had murdered someone recently – either with their own hands or through a subordinate. I was also shocked to discover the crimes committed by the _women_ in the room. Some of them were especially active in the prostitution and even child kidnapping businesses. I ground my teeth when I discovered this, and struggled against the urge to attack that very moment. I had never killed a woman before, but tonight I was learning that several of these beautiful ladies, their dainty hands adorned with jewelry, were actually cold-hearted criminals. I could feed myself for months just on the villains in this room!

I left that night with a sick feeling in my stomach. I had gotten what I wanted: a full view into the heart of organized crime on the East Side. I was disgusted with what I had found, and vowed to stay away from Masseria and his ilk. I had my _own_ crime to worry about.

But the very next weekend, I found myself sitting in the private dining room again. Although I was disgusted with the humans I had observed before, I had actually been distracted and learned very little about Masseria himself. This time I focused on his thoughts, and those closest to him, and finally learned more about the struggle for power he was involved in. Masseria already had a tenuous hold over all the factions from southern Italy, and his followers considered Maranzano to be a dangerous threat to the ethnic purity of the Mafia in the United States. I confirmed the rumors that the two bosses were indeed contacting each other secretly; beneath the surface of the Castellamarese War, there was a more private battle being waged. The two bosses understood each other, and in between the death threats to each other and their family members, there was a great deal of money and business being made and offered between the two. Each was trying to outbuy the other; the "loser" would retire back to Italy, with a staggering fortune and even more connections than before. It was a dangerous game, since they were also trying to kill each other during these months of negotiation. But that's exactly what it was: a game. While Masseria naturally feared death, he held himself to be immortal because of the empire he was helping to build in America. He was no fool, and did not expect to die of old age. But until he breathed his last, he and those like him would continue their games, and the people in this room were their pawns. I couldn't imagine how many people _weren't_ represented here tonight; I knew I was only seeing a sample of the elite, connected to only one of the ruling families. I understood now that there were literally thousands of men , women and children wrapped up in this world.

I couldn't fathom why I kept going back to the Venezia every weekend. I would have gone even more often, but for the necessity of hunting and the resulting four days where my eyes were too red to be seen in public. I was beginning to hate the Mafia with a passion, and the more I hated them, the more I wanted to understand them, and the more I kept going back. Sometimes I brought a briefcase full of "paperwork" to keep my hands busy, and other times I brought newspapers. I had acquired a second suit, and even a diamond pin to wear on my tie. I made it a point to switch regularly between these costumes and props. Nobody ever questioned my presence there, and my stony silence deflected any lingering interest from the ladies.

Over the next three months I became intimate with the personal stories of those who frequented the restaurant. Most were connected to Masseria either out of loyalty or blackmail; either way, few of those I "dined" with ever considered whether they had a choice about their involvement. Many of them were born into this life, and countless others had gotten themselves in so deep it was impossible to imagine a life free of the Mafia's shadow. The family relationships themselves were quite complex, and I was learning that loyalty came in many flavors. How did anyone negotiate this nonsense _without_ reading minds?

Jimmy Malone was one of those born into the luxury of his family's inner circle. He was some sort of nephew of Masseria's, and under his private tutelage. Jimmy was seventeen, and for the most part, lived a normal life: he attended the local high school, had a part time job after school, and had a girlfriend named Elise. But on the weekends, he was here at the Venezia, sitting close to his uncle and imitating his every move. Jimmy was eager to prove himself, and had already been involved in several "operations", the nature of which was unclear to me. Just last week Masseria had promised jimmy a small diamond if he could complete an important assignment: his first kill. Jimmy was nervous about the task ahead of him, but determined to make his uncle proud. He also had secret plans to get the diamond set in a ring the same day he got it; he would propose to Elise as soon as her engagement ring was ready. No doubt Elise considered herself lucky to be courted by such a well-connected young man. He was certainly a handsome catch; he was already quite tall and his dark, romantic features gave away his Sicilian ancestry. The unique way his upper lip turned up in the middle gave him an innocent, boyish smile.

Jimmy's story fascinated me, in a sad sort of way. I could see myself in him, and if I had accepted the Volturi's invitation five years ago, I might have even more in common with Jimmy today. It was disgusting how he worshipped Masseria, but I had to admit that I had seen the same devotion in the two Volturi guards I had met.

That was when it hit me: the reason I had such a morbid fascination with the Mafia was because of the Volturi. Their role in the vampire world was remarkably similar, though of course more powerful, even if the numbers were much smaller. Even though I was a nomad and answered to no one, I still felt the invisible heel of their authority; every vampire did. And if I had accepted Demetri's offer, I would no doubt be sitting at Aro's feet today, eager to please him like everyone on the guard. I knew Aro had supernatural resources that helped him ensure the loyalty of each of his pets.

On the same night that Jimmy had been thinking about his diamond, I finally heard the details of the secret meeting I had been hoping to hear about: Masseria and Maranzano were going to meet in person, on March 28th at one o'clock in the morning, in a _real_ abandoned warehouse on Coney Island: neutral territory. Masseria was confident that this meeting would be the turning point, and that Maranzano would either be shipping off to Italy, or dead within the month.

I forgot about Jimmy and his diamond; _this_ was why I was here. I felt a sudden rage at the thought of Masseria, or anybody, winning the coveted "Boss of Bosses" crown. At least with the current situation, there was some sense of a balance of power between the families. The idea of one man running the whole show, reigning sovereign in the lives of people like Jimmy, did not sit well with me. I had never met Aro, but I already hated him for his monopoly in power. I hated him for however he had brainwashed Demetri, for how he had handpicked Jane for her sadism. I hated him for toying with Carlisle for twenty years. No, I did not want New York to have its human Aro. Having a city with two competing tyrants was one thing; having a supreme tyrant was quite another.

I considered the benefits of having both Masseria and Maranzano in the same room together. If neither contender left the meeting alive, perhaps I could do my part to shake their followers' trust and fear in the system. I decided then and there that I would attend the meeting next week, and show these people what mortality truly meant.


	4. Mistake

That had been a week ago, and I was now making my way to the warehouse through the icy wind. Late March in New York wasn't usually this cold, but a late blizzard had blown through earlier in the month. Much of the snow still remained, and the biting wind whistled through the alleys. Few souls were out this time of night; still, I made a show of staggering against the wind and trudging through the dirty snow as I crossed through Brooklyn, into Coney Island. The lower edges of my trench coat were whipping against my legs and a twist in the wind gave me a face-full of the snow that my feet had just loosed. While the miserable weather had little effect on me, I worried that the meeting scheduled for one o'clock might be postponed. But if I knew Joe Masseria, he wouldn't let a little thing like snow get in the way of his plans.

I checked my watch: 12:40. I had plenty of time to get myself a front row seat at the rendezvous about to take place. I knew neither man would come alone, but that they wished to keep the numbers down. I had never killed more than three men at a time, and I was a bit apprehensive about that part of my plan. I anticipated that each man would bring one or two attendants, and prepared myself for the possibility of confronting up to six men at once. I wasn't afraid for _my_ safety, of course. Rather, I wasn't looking forward to the thoughts of those who I would kill last- I would be as quick as possible, but I wouldn't be able to prevent the final one or two from having time to see me kill their companions first. I hated those kind of thoughts, and I especially hated the fact that I would forever have their memory of watching me kill. I accepted the fact that I was a monster in their eyes, but I didn't enjoy seeing myself in action.

I found the warehouse near the docks. In days past, it had been an assembly factory for boat motors. I chose not to use the main door; if they were to see my footprints in the snow, they might not go through with the meeting. I cut a large circle around to the back, slipped in through a broken window and looked around. The factory floor was one huge room, and a glassed-in catwalk surrounded it on three walls. Most of the original machinery was still there, draped under tarpaulins. The moonlight shining through the few remaining windows gave the huge room a ghostly look. Where should I hide? I wanted to wait to attack until I was sure both Masseria and Maranzano were there. I looked up again at the catwalk seventy feet above me, and saw that the wooden staircase was in shambles. I backed up a few steps, and, getting a running start, launched myself up onto the foreman's platform at the entrance to the catwalk.

I had a good view now, but it wasn't worth the chance that I might be spotted before I was ready. I shattered the lock on the catwalk door and entered into the corridor. It was dotted with office doors on one side, and grimy window panes obscured my view of the factory floor on the other. I rubbed at the window with my sleeve, but with little effect. I spat some venom onto the glass, and rubbed again with some success; I now had a blurry view of the machinery below. Just in time, too: I was startled by the harsh voice of Joe Masseria grumbling about the cold. In my efforts to find my hiding place, I hadn't noticed the thoughts of anyone approaching.

I was still having difficulty seeing through the window, so I latched on Masseria's mind, deciding to watch the rest of the events from his viewpoint. He was preceded into the building by one of his favorite bodyguards, Lucas, who unceremoniously smashed the lock, entering to glance around the premises before nodding back to Masseria. I could see through the window that three shapes had entered, but Masseria wasn't looking at or thinking about the other guard. I guessed it was Donald, the other favorite. I avoided both of the guards' thoughts; Lucas and Donald were both nasty men with nastier minds.

Masseria was nervous; he had expected Maranzano to show up before him. He was weighing the possibility that he might need to throw in the deed to a villa near Rome in order to sweeten the deal further-

His thought was interrupted by the sound of an approaching automobile. I crouched a bit lower in my hiding place, using Masseria's viewpoint to watch the open door. In a moment, I saw Maranzano enter, preceded by two of his own bodyguards. My lips curled back in anticipation and my muscles tensed; I forced myself to wait until all six men were grouped together in the center of the factory floor.

I threw myself headfirst toward the window, and a thousand shards of glass rained down alongside me as I slammed into Masseria, crushing him to death on the factory floor. Before Maranzano could blink, I had already broken his neck, and a second later, both his guards were dead as well. I spun around on the other two men as the last of the glass fell around me. I didn't usually take pleasure in the kill itself, but I let out a snarl of triumph as I rushed at Lucas. The world should thank me for ridding it of _his_ presence. He had had time to see what happened to his fellows, and his slow thoughts barely roared to life just as my fist crushed his skull.

My gaze snapped over to the last man as I raised my fist again, but I was shocked not to find Donald, but Jimmy Malone. His eyes were wide; he recognized me from the Venezia. He was shaking his head slowly and holding his hands up in surrender. _What kind of monster… please don't! Don't…_

I hesitated for just a fraction of a second. I knew my duty; Jimmy had seen too much and there was nothing I could do about it. My eyes burned with unshed tears just as he began to cry as well, and I clenched my teeth, bracing myself as I delivered the blow. As he crumpled to the ground and his eyes closed peacefully, his fading thoughts were only on the engagement ring in his pocket; he was going to propose to Elise tonight.


	5. Bullet

I had accomplished my goal; Masseria and Maranzano were brought to justice, and the feast of a lifetime lay ready around me. But I could only stand silently in the middle of the pile of men at my feet, and stare at the seventeen-year-old boy whose life I had just ended. Other than the unnatural angle of his neck, Jimmy could have been asleep, and his boyish smile was now replaced with a peaceful, angelic mask.

I knew very well what the diamond ring in his pocket meant- sometime in the past week, Jimmy Malone had killed his first man, and he had the diamond to prove it. He was a murderer now, and thus deserved his death at my hand- but I would have spared him. If only I had been more vigilant to check the thoughts of all six men before I attacked. If only I had chosen to kill at human speed, even then I could have spared him…

I knelt down, leaning in to peer more closely at him. His seventeen-year-old face was only inches from my seventeen-year-old face, and suddenly, the world seemed terribly unfair. What Jimmy had done, he was raised to do; if he was a murderer, it was because his uncle had made him one. Whereas I- I choked at the comparison- I had been raised in a happy home by good parents, and by some miracle, I had been raised _again_ by Carlisle, the most selfless, compassionate man on earth. And what had I done? I had _decided_ to become a murderer. And here I was, alive and free for eternity to live as I saw fit, while Jimmy lay dead. Just one minute ago, he had had a life ahead of him, and choices that he could have made. What would those choices have been? He had also had Elise, who loved him. I groaned as I realized I had just ruined her life, as well. And here I sat, alive, without anyone in the world to know or care. How was this justice? Who had decided that I should live, and Jimmy should die? I swallowed convulsively as the answer came to me: _I_ had decided.

I stood again, backing away from the men I had intended to consume. Their blood was still warm, but my stomach was a knot of pain, and my throat strangely devoid of thirst; their bodies would remain undefiled. I didn't even need to hide them, as their injuries didn't suggest anything supernatural. I took off my trench coat, laying it over Jimmy's body like a blanket, and I walked slowly out of the warehouse, my footsteps echoing on the cold cement behind me.

.

.

.

When I ducked out through the warehouse door, I automatically checked my watch, surprised to discover that only four minutes had elapsed since I had entered. It seemed wrong, somehow; the magnitude of what I had just done seemed at odds with the brief time it had taken. I laughed bitterly at this thought. No, the deed itself had taken less than ninety seconds. I had spent most of those four minutes polishing the window in front of me, trying to find the best spot from which to attack my prey- it had seemed so important to choose the best spot. Why had it been so important?

And what had I accomplished, after all? I had killed two humans, who had been running the lives of other humans. In my blind massacre, I had accidentally committed myself to killing a certain human, whom I had valued more than the other humans.

I repeated this mantra to myself over and over. I wasn't bothered by the now-obvious futility of my mission; I had known that others would rise to take the places of their fallen leaders. No, it was imperative that I remember that these people- no, these prey- were just _humans_. Not the same as me, and not worthy of even remembering. I set my jaw as I walked back toward Manhattan, trying desperately to forget the look on Jimmy's face as I had killed him. Trying to forget the last sight his eyes had looked upon: it was me, the red-eyed demon, flying at him with an upraised fist, clenched teeth and regret in my eyes. Had he known that I was trying to weep with him?

I could never forget.

It suddenly seemed of the utmost importance that I stand by the Hudson again, and look to the northwest.

.

.

.

I walked faster and faster through the streets of Manhattan, intent on my goal. If I could just stand by the river and look toward the Adirondacks, everything would become clear, and the painful knot in my stomach would go away. I had to-

"Hold it right there, mister."

I nearly collided with the man in front of me. In my blind rush, I had totally lost track of the minds around me, and even the road in front of me. I was on a narrow stretch of some city street, and had nearly bowled over the man huddled in his overcoat. I muttered an apology and began to walk around him, but he stuck out his arm to block my passage.

"I said _hold_ it." His voice dropped lower now, and he slowly drew his left hand out of his pocket, revealing a loaded pistol. He raised it to my chest, and only with my enhanced vision could I see the way his hand was trembling. His thoughts seemed to be trembling as well; he had clearly never done this before.

_Okay, you can do this, Sylvester. You can do this. Ask for his money and the watch, and he'll do it. You won't really have to shoot him. You can do this. _He cleared his throat, and I could tell now that he was purposely lowering his voice to intimidate me. "Your money. And the watch, too." _Okay, hard part's over; you can do this._ He moved his body slightly to continue blocking my path as his right hand stuck out, ready for a deposit.

I didn't have time for this. I had to get to the river. I didn't even bother to look down at him as I spoke. "Get out of my way," I growled through my teeth. I advanced my left foot but he shoved me back with his right hand.

"I _said_, your money, _now_." _Why isn't he doing it? I really don't want to kill you, mister, please just give me the money! I need it NOW!_ His thumb trembled as it reached up and shakily clicked back the hammer. _Come on, please…._

I looked down now, and my lips curled back in warning. "And I said get out of my way," I whispered back. As I looked into his eyes, I saw a heartless criminal committing a robbery at gunpoint. But in his mind, I could see he had no clue what he was going to do next. He had probably never committed a crime in his life before. Still, I hadn't eaten in four days…

At the thought, my throat burst into flame as I realized our faces were only inches apart, and his carotid pulse was thumping faster and faster as he made up his mind to-

The explosion rocked me back a step, and the burn in my throat faded as the tang of gunpowder filled the air in a puff of smoke. I couldn't see Sylvester anymore, and something had hit my chest. What had happened? I brushed at my shirt, and discovered a hole in the center of it. Just then, a metallic clink sounded on the sidewalk by my feet. I looked down curiously, and found a flat metal disc by my left shoe. My head snapped up and I saw Sylvester still holding the smoking gun. He had _shot_ me! I couldn't believe he had actually done it! I was too surprised to respond immediately, and gaped stupidly at the man before me.

Sylvester's eyes had squinted shut as he had depressed the trigger, and he was just opening them now. _I can't believe I just- what the- he's still standing! I couldn't have missed!_ Then his eyes bulged as he saw the hole in my shirt, the edges of the fabric still smoking, and no blood to be seen. _Oh Jesus God…_ He stumbled backwards a step, but my hand shot up and grabbed his shoulder. The fire was growing in my throat again, and Sylvester had just handed me his own death sentence. I slowly pulled him back toward me, my eyes  
on his throat as he gave way. _I shoulda known it was an angel, what with that perfect face and no coat in this weather! Now I'm done for. Our Father who art in heaven…_

My mouth suddenly went dry when I heard his suspicion. Angel? No, Sylvester, not an angel. If Carlisle was right before, and I ever had a chance, I just destroyed it tonight. Your death is only-

I stopped, and somehow, my melancholy combined with the ridiculous sight of Sylvester racing to finish his prayer in time. An inspiration hit me, and my lips laid back down over my teeth, and curled up into a smile instead. Keeping my right hand on his shoulder, my left hand gently took the gun from him. I held the gun up in his face, and, using just the fingers of my left hand, twisted the barrel into a mash of twisted metal. Sylvester's eyes popped even wider, and I leaned in so close our noses were touching. "Go home, Sylvester," I whispered dramatically. "God is watching you." I released his shoulder.

Sylvester finally screamed and ran away, leaving me alone with the pistol laying on the sidewalk, unsure whether to laugh or not. My throat was still burning, but the painful knot in my stomach was beginning to relax. On a whim, I decided to follow Sylvester home, and see what life I had just granted him. I stayed far enough back so he would never see me; the poor man had had enough excitement for one night.

Sylvester lived in a little bungalow on the West Side. I stopped before turning onto his street, and watched through his eyes as he ran up the porch stairs, and as soon as he threw the door open, he yelled. "Molly! Molly! You'll never guess what!" Molly, his wife, turned the corner into the living room, holding her arched back wearily in her heavily pregnant state. A little girl toddled at her side, smiling up at her daddy.

"No, you guess what, Daddy!" she shrieked. "You got a job!"

Sylvester froze at her words, and he turned to his wife. "Molly?" he uttered, his throat tight.

Molly nodded, tears now in her eyes. "It's true, darling. Mr. Connor just called – you've got the job! Our prayers have been answered!" She fell into his arms, and he just stood there holding her, staring up with unseeing eyes. _Guess you know best after all. Sorry I tried to take matters into my own hands- and tell the angel I'm sorry about his shirt._ He shrugged, and finally leaned down to kiss his wife as his own eyes began to grow moist.

So this was the life I had almost taken from Sylvester. Somehow, knowing I had given it back to him… it didn't help. My stomach twisted further in pain as Jimmy's face appeared before me, and the future he would never have with Elise… the children that would never be born.

I left Sylvester's family in their happiness, and turned back toward my original destination. I needed to get to the Hudson.


	6. Accused

I finally stood at the river's edge, but I didn't see it. I was staring at the horizon, but all I could see was Jimmy's face. And horribly, the longer I stood there, other faces began to appear. Hundreds of faces – those I had killed in the last four years. I recalled every detail, and their mouths opened in condemnation, whispering to me.

_Murderer_.

I covered my ears and closed my eyes, but then all I could see was myself, as they had seen me in those last moments. I opened my eyes again, and searched the sea of faces; why couldn't I find Sylvester's? He had gone out that night with the gun in his hand, and when the moment of decision came, he had decided to kill. Why hadn't I fed on him? Why did I spare him, and not this crowd before me now?

I slowly began to assemble a series of arguments in my mind. I had spared him because he was driven to desperation by the economic depression. I had spared him because he hadn't _wanted_ to kill me. I had spared him because his thoughts weren't malicious enough. I had spared him because he looked like a man who had a family. No, the truth was that I hadn't _felt_ like killing him. I simply wasn't in the mood, because of Jimmy, and that was the only difference between Sylvester and the others.

"They were just humans," I said aloud, but the river drowned out my words. I looked past the sea of faces, and it seemed that I could see across the miles to Rochester, to the house where Carlisle and Esme were living. How many lives had Carlisle saved tonight?

I had saved one.

I sprang forward, and dove into the icy river, swimming northward, desperate to escape the clamor of the accusations behind me.

.

.

I didn't swim long. As the river curled around toward the east, I slipped out onto the land, running as soon as my feet hit the frozen ground. Running northwest, toward Carlisle and Esme. I was convinced that everything would make sense , if I could just see them. If I could just talk to Carlisle, if I could just hear Esme's sweet, warm thoughts, just for a moment…

I reached the house just before dawn, but my heart sank when I didn't encounter their scents in the yard. I broke in through a window, and as I walked through the shadows inside the house, I was able to catch the faintest whiff of Carlisle's scent; it was years old. There was no trace of Esme. I stood by the stair banister, staring at the abandoned living room, its oak furniture covered with sheets.

I felt a chill fall over my heart as I remembered Carlisle distinctly saying that this was the next destination. He had bought this house back in the 1880's, and had always wanted to return to it. Why weren't they here? Because of me, obviously. After my failure to return, they must have realized what I was doing, and didn't wish to encounter me again. My hands gripped the banister as my embarrassment turned to anger, and the wood began to crumble beneath my fingers. Carlisle had done this on purpose! He wanted to pretend I didn't exist, he wished that he had never changed me. He felt he had to protect Esme from me… The banister collapsed under the weight of my shame.

Carlisle and I had talked about this once, before he found Esme; we had casually been wondering whether we would always be alone. He had made it clear that our coven was only open to those who chose to uphold the sanctity of human life. I truly wasn't _welcome_, wherever they were. This had been a wasted trip, and not just because they weren't here.

Where would I go now?

I had known that my time in New York was drawing to a close. Six months was pushing it, and as soon as I made my plans to kill Masseria and Maranzano, I knew I would have to leave immediately. Killing men like that wasn't just foolish, it was dangerous in my world. I knew the press would be all over it, and reporters would start looking at the patterns of the deaths that had been occurring lately. It would be Denver all over again, but worse. No, I hadn't planned on staying. I had been thinking about heading to Indianapolis…

Suddenly, the thought of starting over in a new city made me uncomfortable. I imagined scoping out the slums, mapping out which alleys would have the best turnout, which hours had the least police presence…. Nothing I hadn't done before. But this time, when I imagined taking down my first kill, the pain twisted in my stomach again. What _was_ that? The air shimmered before me inside the dark room, and the faces of the men I had killed began to reappear. Only this time they were joined by other faces, those of women and children. I recognized Elise; I had seen her before in Jimmy's thoughts. The other faces were invented ones; they were the loved ones of those I had killed. The wives, the mothers. The children, many of which would now never be born. Instead of nine hundred faces, there were now ten thousand staring at me, and the empty house was uncomfortably crowded as they started whispering their accusations at me: _murderer_.

"Stop!" I shouted, and the faces vanished. All at once I realized what the pain was: I was feeling _guilty_.

The feeling wasn't foreign to me. I had felt it often in the months before I left Carlisle and Esme. I just hadn't expected to feel it _now_. By the time I had begun hunting humans, I had already convinced myself that it wasn't murder; humans were an inferior species, and I was only following my predatory instincts as part of the food chain. It was only natural. Not only that, I was discerning in my diet; I had never once deviated from my vow to hunt only criminals. Being able to read minds put me in a class above other traditional vampires; I could hardly be considered a monster when my gift enabled me to follow a steady diet of human monsters.

So why was it that after four years of this life, I was suddenly beset with guilt? Why not in the beginning? I could not pretend that I hadn't always been bothered by the terrorized thoughts of my prey, or by the fear in their eyes in their final moment. I couldn't pretend that I hadn't seen this crowd of faces before. I had. But now, even as my anger settled into my burning throat, the thought of adding another face to the crowd in front me was painful. Another life- and the lives that revolved around it.

"_Human_ lives," I said aloud to the empty house. If only Carlisle were here to answer me. Who else was there? Nobody.

I set my lips in a thin line as my aching throat distracted me. My introspection would have to wait – I needed to hunt. It had been five days now, and that was a stretch for me. Perhaps my thoughts would be clearer after I fed. But where? And who?

The reason I had chosen to feed on criminals was out of respect for the innocent lives I did not wish to disturb. And now, if I was unwillingly beginning to admit to myself that even criminals had lives, had loved ones, what was I to do? Leave them alone, too? Who was I supposed to hunt, then? How could I aim lower than the scum of the earth I had become accustomed to?

I didn't need Carlisle's presence to hear his answer. I would be hunting animals tonight. Just for tonight- until I got my tangled thoughts back in order. I climbed back out the broken window, and headed up into the mountains.


	7. Experiment

I crept higher in the tree, settling into a notch between two of the larger branches. I sat motionless for a time, watching the stars and listening. Had it really been four years since I had done this? Most of my time had been in cities, where it took little effort to search out the type of minds I was looking for. When I was travelling to a new city, I always sped quickly through the countryside; I had never taken time to pause and enjoy the stillness of open nature. Perhaps, in my innermost mind, I had already begun to feel unworthy of the beauty that surrounded me – as if my presence in any peaceful, pastoral scene would desecrate it.

On the nights I had chosen to sit motionless atop a building, or even hidden in the brush at the edge of a city park, I still had the noise of the city to keep me company. The traffic provided a soothing white noise, not to mention the hundreds of conversations taking place at any given moment, or the radio shows playing in more homes each year. Also, I had the symphony of thoughts to entertain me – thousands easily within reach, and when I wasn't actively hunting, I could pick and choose which minds to listen to, depending on my mood. As night fell, the mental voices shifted from sharp, coherent voices to filmy, shifting dreams. Again, I could select which ones to focus in on. My kind are easily distracted, and I had no limit of choices for my distraction. I never had to be alone with my _own_ thoughts.

But now I was miles from civilization, and the silence here was deafening, leaving a thick void in my mind. A memory arose, unbidden – myself and Carlisle, sitting up in a tree like this one. It was thirteen years ago, the night he had taken me out for my first hunt. I closed my eyes, and relived the scene in perfect clarity.

_I was desperate with thirst, my hands shaking as I gripped the branch beside me. Carlisle had been sympathetic. "I know you must be thirsty. Just wait a moment, and take in your surroundings. Notice the scents, their direction, their quality. We are not savages, Edward. The hunt is a necessary part of our life, but we do not need to undertake it recklessly." An impatient growl rumbled in my chest and I gathered my feet under me, preparing to spring away from Carlisle and begin the hunt in my own way. I stopped, however, and willed myself to look back at my creator, and await his instruction._

I let the memory fade away, leaving behind the benign face of Carlisle. He had been proud when I had followed his example that night, and it had been worth it. By focusing my senses and extending them, I had been able to catch not only the bland, plant-like scent of the nearby herd of deer, but also the rich, multi-layered aroma of the mountain lion that was a bit farther away, stalking the herd. That mountain lion had been my first meal, and had been my favorite prey in the years that followed. Ever since that night, I naturally began each hunt by taking a moment to close my eyes and let the sounds and smells of my environment wash over me.

In the past four years, however, my hunting style had shifted significantly, not only in my choice of prey, but in my method. The sounds and smells of the city offered little guidance to what I sought; my mind-reading was the sense that I followed most often. It was the only way to ensure that I selected the right kind of prey.

But here in the woods, that sense failed me. Like I had done on that night long ago, I closed my eyes and let the surrounding sounds and smells wash over me, creating a three-dimensional map of the forest in my mind's eye.

Directly ahead, maybe two hundred yards, I heard the quiet trickling of a creek. Off to my right, a bit closer, I could smell the fungal activity on a rotting tree. Beneath me on the forest floor, the insects and small mammals that had quieted at my approach were just beginning to move again. I inhaled more deeply, picturing the roll of the land I had previously observed. About a mile to my right there was a muffled stamping sound, and my eyes popped open. _Deer_. I rose from my perch and dropped to the ground, sending the insects in a flurry away from my feet. I moved silently through the trees, stopping at the edge of a thicket to which the sound had drawn me.

Peering through the trees, I saw a group of three white-tailed deer, casually grazing through the brush. A bit of venom tickled in my throat, and my thirst roared to life. Strangely, though, I noticed no response in my muscles, no desire to attack. I felt uneasy at this discovery, and decided I should complete the hunt, regardless. I leapt into the thicket and snapped the neck of the closest deer, the other two scampering away as I sunk my teeth into its throat.

The feeling of fur on my lips was pleasantly familiar, but as soon as the blood touched my tongue, I recoiled. The taste was _awful_ – so bland, and it carried a bitter, cloying aftertaste. I continued drinking, but after a few moments I had to stop. Compared to the rich sweetness of the human blood I had become accustomed to, the deer's blood was disgusting. I tore at the deer's throat, disguising the wound, and dropped the carcass. I didn't bother to hide it – I hadn't taken enough blood to arouse any kind of suspicion, were the body examined.

Walking away and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I considered the taste. Comparing it to my memories of hunting in previous years, I decided the blood tasted normal; it was my own appetite that had changed. I decided that it would be better to start with something a little more desirable, and I focused again on my senses. This time I heard a snuffling sound, perhaps half a mile behind me. I followed the sound, and then the musky scent that accompanied it: black bear.

I found him nosing under a log, searching for a midnight snack. He wasn't fully grown, but still a good size. I cleared my throat and he spun around, his big eyes gazing into mine, but they held no interest. He turned back around and began to lumber off.

I sighed impatiently. Not only did the bear seem uninterested, but my own instincts were again silent. I resolved to continue the experiment, however, and ran up behind the bear, giving him a kick.

He turned angrily and the fight was on. We spent a few moments posturing, occasionally slashing the air toward each other. Finally he rushed at me, and I allowed him to bowl me over. Thinking he had won, he sniffed at me, and when the scent didn't interest him, he began to lumber away. I felt a snarl rumbling in my chest, and of their own accord, my hands shot out and shoved him, earning another attack. I still felt half-hearted about the scent of the bear's blood, but I was beginning to enjoy the challenge. He tore at me with his teeth, and I snapped back, purposely missing his skin. A second later, we were rolling in the dust, and his great paws knocked me away. As I jumped back onto my feet, he stood at full height as well, and the fight turned into a wrestling match. I was only using a quarter of my strength, but even so, I felt an exhilaration I hadn't felt in years. We struggled a moment further, and I ended it with a quick twist of his head.

Tentatively, I began drinking.

The taste was definitely more tolerable this time, although greasy and still disappointing – like biting into a dry chicken breast when you were expecting a steak. I forced myself to drink my fill, and then buried the bear's body deep underground.

I decided to return to my spot in the tree, and spent the rest of the night watching the stars and thinking. I had fed enough for now, but I couldn't deny the lack of satisfaction that I felt. Not in the hunt - that had been quite enjoyable, in the end. No, it was the blood itself that was a disappointment. Even as a newborn, mad for human blood, I hadn't actually _known_ what I was missing. Now I felt cheated, and incomplete.

For a moment, I considered returning to New York. Only for the night- just so I could hunt one more time before moving on. But the sky was already lightening in the east, and the police would find my handiwork soon. No, New York was not an option anymore.

Where, then? Each time I considered a destination, I could almost see the sea of faces waiting for me there. Would my guilt follow me to the next city, as well? What if I were to continue with the animal diet… for a time, anyway? It would be pleasant to live in a forest again, and I felt some excitement as I thought about moving westward, and encountering more challenging prey. If only the taste wasn't so awful!

I considered the two warring desires inside of me. Now that I was beginning to feel guilty about hunting any type of humans, the man inside me wanted to cease my murdering ways. When I had hunted the deer and the bear, it had been a welcome respite: there were no thoughts complicating the act. What would it be like to never have to hear those type of thoughts again? To never again see fear and revulsion in a man's eyes as I closed in for the kill?

Then there was the other part of me. The monster, I named him cynically. _He_ didn't want any part of this conversation. He wanted me to stop wasting my time in a tree, and move on to the next city, to my next kingdom. He was angry at how he had been deprived tonight, and was already punishing me; though I knew I had drunk enough, my throat was already beginning to ache again.

For a moment, I imagined stepping outside myself and comparing the two halves side by side: the man and the monster. If I could just keep them separate, perhaps I didn't need to go insane, after all. I hadn't indulged the monster in my first nine years as a vampire, so why should he rule me now? If I stopped hunting humans, it would be _my_ choice. I was strong enough to reign him in, if I could just force myself to become accustomed to animal blood again.

I could do this. I _wanted_ to do this.

Now, instead of seeing a selection of cities in my future, I now had another set of choices. Which mountain range? Which national forest? A nostalgic smile spread across my face as I thought about the selection of predatory species awaiting me in each location. I decided not to try mountain lion for a while. I didn't want to spoil my appetite for my favorite food by tasting it now, when it could only disappoint me. No, that would be my reward if I could make it a month without human blood.

A month. Without human blood…

The monster suddenly raged within me, tearing at my throat, screaming in my head. What was I thinking? How could I possibly go that long? I shuddered, but squared my shoulders as I stood up in the tree. I _would_ make it a month. I _had_ to. I knew that if I returned to hunting humans, the man within me would bow to the monster, never to stand again.

As I dropped to the ground, the first rays of dawn broke over me. I flinched at the glittering alienness on my skin; it had been years since I had seen it. My city life had made me a true creature of the night, and my days had been spent in the shadows. Well, no more. I might not think my vampire skin was beautiful, but I wore it now as a badge of my conviction, and I took off through the trees, running expectantly toward my freedom.


	8. Return

Two months later, I was kneeling by a creek in northern Idaho, washing my face and hair. The sounds and smells of spring surrounded me, and though the animals nearest me were silent in their fear, I reveled in the purity of the air around me. There were no thoughts but my own, and the monster was silent today. I had kept my vow, and had celebrated a month ago with my first mountain lion. _Well, three mountain lions_, I recalled with a smile. Now that I was returning to my previous lifestyle, I was able to drink more at a time, and could now go up to ten days without hunting, if I wanted. I didn't usually bother waiting that long; there wasn't much else to do, other than explore whatever habitat I found myself in. It was healing to spend my time living in the soft beauty of the grass, trees and mountains. I didn't miss the lifeless cement and stink of the city, nor the oppressive crowd of minds.

I had been careful to stay in the wilderness. The first three weeks had been torture, and whenever I had come across the faintest scent of a human, I was obliged to turn tail and escape, the monster screaming in my head as I ran. In this way, I was rather like a newborn again, only this time I _knew_ how delicious human blood was, and that made it more difficult. I understood that it would be some time before I would feel comfortable around people again, and I might never be able to immerse myself in their culture, as I had done when I was living with my parents.

I was thinking of them as my parents again now, because I was just beginning to presume calling myself a man again. I now understood why Carlisle and Esme enjoyed their human charade- even as the extra strength and telepathy range faded away with my new diet, I felt myself calming down, thinking in more civilized patterns. I was more content, even in my loneliness, and although I still felt some guilt about leaving my family, and about choosing to kill so many men, their faces hadn't haunted me lately. Only in those fleeting moments when I considered returning to a traditional diet was I plagued by the memories I so desperately wished that I could lose.

I was lonely, though- there was no denying that. Carlisle and Esme didn't just enjoy their "human" life because it made them _humane_- they craved companionship. Because of their choice, they were able to live in peace not only with each other, but with the circle of humans they were able to interact with. And now that my more feral instincts were retreating, I felt that craving for companionship, too. I laughed as I realized I even missed _school_, of all things.

I stood up from the creek bed, shaking the water out of my hair and combing my fingers through the stubborn tangles. My appearance would be an embarrassment to Esme, should she see me now. I still had on the same blue dress shirt and slacks that I had left New York in. I had been careful when I hunted, knowing it would be a while before I would have enough control to go shopping. But even with my best efforts, my clothes were ragged at the edges now, and no matter how often I washed them, there were dirt and blood stains that would never come out. In my enthusiasm when I hunted the mountain lions last month, I couldn't resist having a little tussle with my prey, and there were four slices down the back of my shirt, made by one of the lion's claws. My shoes had worn out in the first month, and I was barefoot now. My hair was a lost cause, and my heart ached as I imagined Esme reaching up to smooth it, pulling my shoulder down so that she could reach.

It was a shame. Now that I was in agreement with them again, I had no idea where to find them. I couldn't be sure of their forgiveness, and I was even less sure if Carlisle would allow me to stay, even if I were to find them. Would I _want_ to stay? I ran my fingers through my hair again, imagining that life again: living as an eternal teenager, endless hours in school, obliged to follow Carlisle's lead… but then I thought of playing the piano again, having a home, feeling loved, sharing my life with my family. Yes, I would want to stay.

I had thrown that life away, though. I had decided it was beneath me, and in my arrogance, I had hurt the only two people in the whole world who mattered. I winced as I remembered the day that I left: Esme's tears, and Carlisle's loving pity as he watched me leave. Calling out to me frantically in his mind, begging me to return when I was able-

My breath caught as I replayed his exact words in my mind.

_Please, son! Please come back when you are able. We'll stay in this house as long as we can. We love you, Edward, we always will. Please come home…_

Could it be that they were still in Montana? It had been so long, much longer than we had ever stayed anywhere before. We would never have taken that risk. But if there was even a possibility…

Before I knew it, I was already running, hope rising within me. Could I find my family, after all?

.

.

.

I reached their house at dusk, unable to believe my good fortune. The lingering fragrance in the air told me they still lived here, but I heard no thoughts; they weren't at home. Though this had once been my home too, I didn't feel I had the right to enter alone, so I waited in the trees at the edge of the yard.

The sun was setting as I waited, and my spirit sank with it. What was I doing here? In the past weeks, I had proven to myself that I could hold to the animal diet, and my resolve had strengthened daily. But Carlisle and Esme weren't blind. They would know the instant they saw my eyes what I had been up to. I should have waited, stayed away a few more months until the evidence of my choice had faded. I turned to leave, but stopped myself. No, it was better this way. If they were going to take me back, it had to be on honest terms; I would tell them everything. My jaw clenched as I imagined their reaction. Would they take me back? Would they _want_ me back? Would Esme be able to even look at me? Sweet, gentle Esme… Even if they tried to understand, they would be filled with revulsion.

I heard the telltale crunching of gravel and knew their car had turned off the highway. Suddenly panic rose up, twisting my insides. I instinctively avoided their minds, feeling suddenly unworthy. What would Carlisle say? Would his thoughts be saturated with disappointment and pity, as they had been on the day I left?

The car came into view and as it rolled to a stop, I could see my parents laughing together in the car. The doors opened and they got out, Carlisle carrying his doctor's bag and Esme a brown paper sack – no doubt full with her weekly props from the grocery store, destined for the food bank the next time she went out. After a few steps, their conversation died away and they paused, sniffing the air.

Carlisle's face broke into a huge grin. "Edward?" he called, looking around. Esme did the same, running toward the house, smiling. I was unable to avoid their minds any longer, and Esme's warm, kind thoughts rushed over me like a blanket. _Can it be? Can it really be him?_

"Here." I stepped out into the twilight, keeping my eyes down as they approached. Esme rushed into my arms, and I flinched, holding her away. I was unused to physical contact, other than that with my prey.

_Edward, what's wrong?_ I felt her questioning gaze, and with a sigh, I lifted my eyes so she could see them.

Her hand flew to her mouth. _His eyes! He had an accident…_

Just then, Carlisle ran up. _Edward! I knew you would return! I knew it was right to stay here, so you could… _His thoughts and his breath hitched as he saw my eyes.

Esme had already recovered herself. "Well, it doesn't matter. The important thing is that you're here! Come inside and tell us everything you've been… up to." Her voice grew quieter at the end, but then she hooked her hand in my arm and began pulling me toward the house. Not wanting to hurt her feelings again, I let her lead me. Carlisle followed us, his hand gently at my back, urging me along.

As we reached the front door, though, I stopped. I hadn't been inside a private home since my departure four years ago, and as Esme opened the door, the domestic scene before me seemed foreign. The living room wasn't quite as I remembered it- the blue couch was there, and the old coffee table, but the wall was hung with new wallpaper, decked with roses along the border. There were new furniture pieces, and several large vases with seasonal flowers filled the air with perfume. I glanced back at the yard, and only now noticed the orderly gardens surrounding the house, and the manicured lawn. It hadn't looked like _that_ when I left.

"Come on, son." I startled at the affectionate term, and turned to see my adopted father's expectant face. He nodded toward the door. _We have a lot to talk about, but for Esme's sake please join us, at least for a while._ I turned back and stepped hesitantly over the threshold, suddenly remembering the old myth that a vampire couldn't enter a home unless invited. I smiled at the thought; surely that rule wouldn't apply in _this_ situation.

I entered the room and automatically flipped the nearby electric switch, illuminating the room in a gentle lamplight. My eyes stole over to the picture window, and sure enough, my piano was sitting there like an old friend. My fingers twitched toward it. Could I still play? It had been so long.

Esme, seeing where my gaze was focused, gently pushed me toward the piano. "Would you, Edward, for me? I tuned it myself earlier this year." _I never gave up hope. _When she saw me hesitate, she pushed again, more gently. "Please, sweetie. Just one song, my song?"

I couldn't say no to that. I pulled out the bench and sat down, running my fingers over the keys reverently, and my hands found the beginning notes of Esme's song. I began quietly, and as the music swelled, I felt my tension begin to fall away. My parents stood close behind me, and their thoughts were filled with love for me, for each other. Could we be a family again? I still hadn't explained myself, but perhaps I didn't need to right away. I had no intention of lying to my parents, but maybe I could just enjoy a few days with them first, before telling the full truth… before I had to let them see what a monster I had become. Esme clearly thought I had only recently "slipped up". Carlisle's thoughts weren't so clear – he just kept thanking God for my return, watching my fingers move from where he stood behind me. I tried not to think how those loving thoughts would change soon, and closed my eyes as I played, enjoying the picture perfect scene of our little family, gathered by the piano, together again.

As the song ended, I let the last notes linger, not wanting the moment to end. Finally I stood, and Esme sighed. "As beautiful as ever. Oh, I've missed your music! I've missed _you_." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek.

I finally drew her to me and held her tightly, breathing in her familiar scent – caramel. I'd always thought it fitting that her scent matched her hair. "I've missed you too, Mom," I whispered into her ear.

Her shoulders were trembling in my arms, and I drew back so she could speak, but as usual, her thoughts told me what I needed to know. _Oh, my son is back! You'll stay with us? Please say you've really come home._

I didn't respond, not knowing the answer myself. Now that I was really here, my confidence was not what had been this morning, in Idaho. It seemed that in my absence, my parents had become even more human, while I – I had become the stuff of nightmares. Even with my recent change of heart, I felt terribly out of place next to the people that I loved. My unworthiness was like a cloud over me- couldn't they see it?

Esme looked up at me now, her hopeful smile beginning to fade as she saw the doubt in my eyes. Thankfully, I was saved by Carlisle's interruption.

"Esme? We need to leave in about an hour. Why don't you get the cookies started… I'd like to show Edward something."

Esme looked between her husband and I, and she turned to go, holding my gaze. _It doesn't matter if you made a mistake._ _I want you to stay, Edward, please!_ She was thinking as loudly as she could. She waited for a moment, and then continued into the kitchen, picking up her grocery sack as she passed it.

I looked back at Carlisle incredulously. "_Cookies_?"

Carlisle watched her leave the room, tenderness in his eyes. "She's grown quite a bit since you left. She's begun volunteering at the hospital, and forming friendships with some of the nurses and long-term patients. Last year she dusted off her cookbook, and she's been at it ever since. Tonight the children's ward is having a bake sale to raise money for new beds." His pride was evident in his smile.

I looked toward the kitchen, with a sense of awe. When I had left, Esme wasn't exactly a newborn, but she was still adjusting to life as a vampire. She certainly didn't have any _friends_. She had already discovered her interest in remodeling and architecture, but it seemed I had missed quite a bit in my absence.

"Walk with me, son," Carlisle said as he went towards the patio door. We stepped out into the back yard and kept walking until he sat down on a wooden bench near the wood's edge. He motioned for me to join him, and we sat in silence for a while. I watched as he replayed the past half hour in his thoughts. I watched myself, shocked at how inhuman my movements had become, how little I had spoken. I saw a haunted figure in ragged clothes, with milky, burnt-orange eyes, moving stealthily, moving like a nomad. I waited for him to speak.

"Edward," he began quietly, "How long have you been back on the animal diet?"

I stopped breathing, my mouth suddenly dry. "You knew?"

_I ask again, how long has it been?_

I finally found my voice, but it was weak. "Two months."

Carlisle kept looking straight ahead. "Humans, the rest of the time?"

My voice was barely above a whisper now. "Yes."

His thoughts were a whirlwind, flashing images of me stalking men in dark alleys, lurking on warehouse rooftops, my eyes glowing red as I drank from a kill. I winced, knowing those pictures were all too accurate. Carlisle closed his eyes as he then imagined me breaking into homes, hunting women, children…

My head snapped up. "No! Never. Only criminals, the worst ones, and only when I was sure."

He just sighed, looking suddenly much older. "They were _people_, Edward."

"Carlisle, I-"

"Look over there, son." He gestured back toward the house, and I could see Esme through the kitchen window. She was moving about the kitchen, wearing an apron and humming as she worked. "This life… this is what I want for us." He finally turned to look at me. "Edward, when you left… she was heartbroken. She couldn't understand why you would leave just when our coven was truly becoming a family_." I couldn't understand. _"I want you to stay. Even if you decide not to, you will always be my son. But if you're going to be a part of this family again, I need to know you are serious about your intentions. I cannot allow you to stay, and to continue living like you have. It will tear us apart. All of us," he added, nodding toward the window. "Edward, are you truly ready to commit to this lifestyle again?"

I swallowed, but I was sure of my resolve. "Yes, sir."

"And… will you stay?" He looked away, but he held his breath, waiting for my answer. _We can help you. Please say yes, son… at least try. Please…_

All at once, I found myself hating my talent. With all our years together, Carlisle had become quite adept at schooling his thoughts around me. Did he really want me back, now that he knew what I had become? Or was he just doing this for Esme? If only I could read emotions, instead of thoughts – _that_ was what I needed in this moment. That would be a talent worth having…

"Carlisle, do you _want_ me back?" I asked abruptly. He jerked his head back to look at me, confusion in his eyes.

"You know I do."

"I can't see why you would," I spat. Standing up, I looked again towards the house. Esme had just put a batch of cookies in the oven, and was putting away her other groceries in the cupboard. The lights from the kitchen and the living room flooded the whole yard with a soft, yellow glow. I noticed now that the back yard, too, was trimmed and dotted with signs of Esme's loving touch. While I had been away, destroying the shreds of humanity I had left, they had been back here, becoming more human every day. Everything about my parent's life here was so peaceful, so warm. My presence here was a stain, an abomination. No, I would not stay. Perhaps just a few days, perhaps a visit every few years. But even if I never made another mistake, I knew that I could never be a part of this family again. They would never be able to trust me; they would always see the blood on my hands.

I opened my mouth to tell Carlisle my decision, but shut it again. His thoughts had turned to memories, and my mind was flooded with familiar images. The day he and I had first met. Finding me in the hospital, pale and sweaty from the exertion of breathing. Carlisle, darting through dark alleys at night, carrying me away from the morgue. My awakening, my first hunt. I smiled at the image of us in the tree – the same memory I had recently recalled. The images scrolled more quickly now – Carlisle and I, carrying moving boxes into our second home. The shock on my face when he had brought Esme home, bloody and hardly breathing. Me, sporting a huge grin, dressed in a tuxedo at their island wedding off the coast of Brazil. Esme and I laughing, wearing matching baseball caps as we painted the exterior of this very house. And just tonight, me playing the piano for Esme, Carlisle with one hand on each of our shoulders. My dead heart ached more and more with each image, its cold stone crumbling as it remembered the love I had for my parents. I _wanted_ to stay, so badly…

The memories faded and Carlisle stepped closer, putting a hand on my shoulder. "How could I want anything else? Edward, our family isn't complete without you. I can't condone what you did, but I've already forgiven you, and I know she will as well. Our love for you isn't conditional on your behavior! You will always be our son, no matter where you are. But won't you stay?"

Suddenly I was caught in his arms, his trembling hands holding me with a grip that would have crushed a human. _I love you, son… how can I make you understand that?_ My shoulders relaxed and I slowly moved my hands up until I was returning his embrace. I nodded against his shoulder and I felt his face break into a smile. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "After everything you taught me…"

He just made a shushing sound, rubbing the back of my head as he held me even tighter. Sudden a cold thought seized me and I broke away. "Esme doesn't know," I said flatly.

"No. I suspected from the beginning what you had chosen to do, but she would never believe it. I'll let you tell her, when you're ready." _She'll forgive you._

He was right; I knew that now. Esme was the most compassionate, innocent person I had ever known, and Carlisle's memories had reminded me of our easy friendship. Still, I dreaded telling her. I looked toward the house again and sighed as I began to walk forward.

Carlisle moved in the opposite direction. _I'll give you some space_, he thought kindly. He disappeared into the woods, and I was left alone.

Esme's thoughts drifted in from the house. She was picturing the three of us, relaxing together as we walked in the local park. _A normal mother could entice her son with cooking… what can I say to get him to want to stay with us? It's not like he needs his parents, but-_

She turned around with a gasp as I opened the patio door and stepped back into the house. "Esme, you're the best mother anyone could wish for," I murmured. It was true, and now I had to ruin her picture-perfect daydream.

She smiled sweetly, looking down at her hands. "Edward, I want to talk to you about something." She sat down on the couch, patting the space beside her.

I sat down beside her. "I have something I need to say as well."

"No, let me speak first. Edward," she began nervously. _What will he think of me? _"I just want to say that I understand. Everyone makes mistakes… even me." I gasped at the memory she showed me. She had been hunting alone, and had just taken down an elk when the smell hit her. The next thing she remembered, she was crouching over a dead man. His hand had a deep cut, but his throat was torn. "It happened so fast," she whispered, her voice trembling. "He was hiking nearby, and I was almost eight years old, so it didn't even occur to me to be careful. I had just killed the deer, and that must have been the same moment he slipped and cut his hand… Edward, what I'm trying to say is that I understand. You made a mistake, and we forgive you. Let's just put it behind us."

I shook my head. "Esme… there was no mistake."

"You killed… on purpose?" her eyes grew wide as the realization sunk in. "The whole time you…?" There was no mistaking the horror in her voice. She edged away from me, and I stood and looked down at the woman I considered my mother, noticing for the first time her candy striper uniform. I choked on the bitterness that welled up in my throat as I compared the two of us. We were both creatures that were considered evil. But when Esme fed on a human, she turned around and immediately began to atone, to grow… whereas after my first kill, I had purposely continued down a path of darkness and murder. The more I sought out evil minds, the more I had forgotten that there were people like the woman before me now, full of kindness and the ability to better themselves- even after committing an atrocity. _This_ is what made a person human. And all those human lives that I had ended… I had taken that possibility away from them. I thought of Jimmy, and of his children that would never be born. Even if Jimmy himself would never have been able to break free of the path he had been set on, perhaps he could have taught his children to do so. And now, because of me, that could never happen. I truly _was_ a monster. A murderer. All those people…

As Esme stretched out her arms up toward me in forgiveness, the enormity of what I had done finally hit me like a ton of bricks. My knees collapsed and I laid my head on my mother's lap, weeping like a child.


	9. Moving On

We sat like that for thirteen hours. When Carlisle came back in, he rushed over and knelt on the floor beside me as I wept, keeping his arm around my trembling shoulders the rest of the time. At times, they joined me in crying. _Our son, our son… such pain._ Their pity and love washed over me, alternately cleansing my wretchedness, and then burning me with a renewed acid of guilt.

When one is weeping without tears, there is no natural end to it; the body does not have any drive to stop. When the sun's first beams fell over the couch, I abruptly sat back on my heels and was finally silent. "Carlisle. The fundraiser, your shift at the hospital-"

"I haven't worked there in two years, Edward. We wanted to stay in this house as long as we could, in case you returned." _And now I am so glad that we did!_ "But we couldn't continue to be seen in public much longer after you left. There were questions about your disappearance, and eventually we had stayed so long it would have been impossible for my coworkers to ignore my lack of aging."

"And without my talent, you couldn't know what their suspicions were," I said drily. It was yet another way I had failed my family… I wanted to weep again, but found I didn't have the energy. My renewed grief was distracted by a new thought. "But your medical bag – the fundraiser, Esme's uniform?"

"I work now as an on-call physician in Garfield County. Esme is a volunteer at Jordan General Hospital."

"But that's more than three hundred miles from here!"

Carlisle grinned. "Well… I don't usually _drive_ there. It takes me about two hours to run, if I've eaten well."

"But why? Why would you both choose such a long commute? Surely there are hospitals that need you in Cascade County, or even closer to home."

He shifted uncomfortably. _Now, son, don't get upset… _"I tried closer to home, at first. But there aren't enough physicians to go around this far north, and I kept running into old colleagues. One day, I had been filling in at a clinic in Cascade County, and ran into Harry- you know, my old boss here. He acted like he was pleased to see me, but he seemed uneasy. I followed him after we parted, just to be sure. When he got home, I stayed hidden in the woods behind his house, and I heard him talking to his wife about how peculiar I was, and how I never looked any older. He was planning on calling my medical school to see when I graduated. After that, I thought it would be best if Esme and I only moved in circles so far away there would be no more chance meetings. As it happens, I only work part time; I usually answer a call to fill in no more than twice a week. Esme comes with me on those days."

My parents shared a look, and it was clear they were out of practice when it came to blocking my ability. They were both remembering how troubling Harry's suspicions had truly been that night. In his conversation with his wife, he had gone on to remind her about my sudden disappearance two years before. "Mark my words," he had said to her, "there's something not right about those Cullens. That kid couldn't have just run off – he wasn't the type. I hate to think ill of Carlisle, but sometimes I wonder if he didn't tell the police everything , if he had something to do with it. It's unnatural how he never changes. What if he's doing some kind of experimentation, like the Germans? What if he's in league with _them_? What if he tried something on the kid, and it went wrong?"

I drew in my breath sharply as I overheard this last part. "Did the police ever…"

"No. I made it a point to stay out of any public place for a few months after that, and changed our mailing address to the house in New York. It's likely Harry was just speculating that night, and never acted on his suspicion… at least we haven't had any trouble."

Now I felt worse than ever. Not only had my parents gone out of their way to stay in this house too long, but they were also putting themselves in danger to do so. What had happened with Harry was exactly the sort of situation where my ability was needed. I could have quickly determined how serious his suspicions were- and whether he had any intentions of following through on them. Well, I could remedy that, at least. I was a little uneasy about going that close to a human's home, but it was the least I could do.

"Where does he live?" I asked coldly.

Esme looked at me in shock. _Edward, no! You can't kill him! Think what it would do to Carlisle!_

It felt good to laugh again. "No, Esme. I merely intend to listen, and make sure there's no real threat."

Carlisle shrugged. "There's no need. It was some time ago, and I've never heard from him since. At any rate, now that you're back, we'll be moving on." _New York. I can't wait to see those mountains again!_ "You'll come with us, won't you?"

"Of course."

He smiled in relief. "Good, it's settled then. I don't need to give much notice, since I'm on call. Why don't we plan on leaving Saturday?" Esme and I nodded our agreement, and they both stood up to leave for their day at the hospital. Carlisle was already creating a story to explain his departure at work.

As they were going out the door, Esme was practically skipping. Carlisle smiled at me over his shoulder. _This is the happiest she's been in years._ I nodded back to him.

When they were gone, I made my way upstairs and entered my old room. I was sure that Esme had converted it into some sort of workroom- her renovation plans had always been taking up the dining room table. Not that we needed it for anything else, of course. But when I opened the door, I was pleased to see that the room was exactly as I had left it. I finally allowed myself to believe that they had really been waiting for me to come home, and I walked through the room, trailing my hand along the possessions I had left behind. I stopped when my hand rested on my globe. I had spent so many hours studying it, wishing I could explore the world, planning the life I would had when I finally found the courage to leave.

I glanced over to my bookshelves, and found my journals, minus the final one, which I had hidden in the woods on the day of my departure. I would use my last week here to catch up. I didn't look forward to reliving the events of the past four years on paper, but I knew it was something I needed to do. I winced as I realized there was something _else_ I needed to do.

I slid open the window and dropped down into the backyard, taking in the familiar aroma of the forest. I found the oak and starting digging, and in a few moments I was brushing the dirt off my journal from 1927. I leaned against the tree as I read, disgusted with the juvenile belligerence in the words I found there. Why hadn't I realized how good I had it before? Why didn't I discuss my questions with Carlisle? If I had allowed him to help me think through the doubts that Demetri had planted in my mind, maybe I wouldn't have gotten myself into such a mess. If Carlisle was right, and I had retained my soul in this non-life, then surely I had now destroyed any trace of it _now_. I was just fortunate that he had taken me back.

And then there was Esme. Why hadn't her love been enough to hold me here? Why did I leave, when I knew how much I was hurting her? While she had comforted me through my night of mourning, I had clung to her like a rock that would save me from the rushing river of my sorrow. It wasn't until then that I had realized how much I had missed her sweet, loving thoughts, and her tendency to fuss over me. My hand crept up to touch my tangled hair, and I looked down at my clothes. There was one gift I could give Esme by the time she came home tonight. I ran back to the house, and jumped back through my open window.

I took the longest shower of my life- the hot water was glorious! I changed into the nicest clothes in my closet, and spent at least an hour in front of the mirror, trying to tame my hair. I hated the reflection that stared back at me, and I wished again that I had waited longer before coming home. My eyes were a horrid shade of rust, and I casually wondered how long it would be before I could move among humans again. But even after my eyes were ready, what would it be like? Would I struggle with my control as I had done in the months before I left?

I understood now that the reason I had lost control of my thirst back in 1927 was nothing more than my own stupidity. I had restrained myself successfully for so many years that I thought I was all but immune to the scent of human blood. Oh, I knew I was nothing like Carlisle- I was always careful to stop breathing whenever one of my classmates or teachers got a paper cut, and I avoided the school when I knew there was a high risk of encountering blood that day. I had no illusions of becoming a physician like my father, nor was I interested in such a path. But I was immensely proud of the fact that I had never made a mistake; I had worked hard to keep my perfect record.

So when Demetri and Jane had visited, and I finally allowed myself to consider the possibility of traditional vampirism, I was confident that I could choose to stay on the animal diet, but allow myself to begin enjoying the scent of the humans around me. I reasoned that I was only experimenting, and that if I could just allow my sense of smell to be satisfied, that it would be enough. I wouldn't need to actually feed on a human… at least not in the foreseeable future. And in the beginning, I was very careful to breathe in small amounts, savoring the quality of a classmate's scent for the brief time that I was near them.

But, as it is with all addictions, that soon wasn't enough. I had forgotten how different the vampiric sense of smell was, compared to that of humans. My body reacted as if I was actually taking in small amounts of human blood; I found myself having to hunt more often, and my behavior gradually became less civilized. I was increasingly irritable, and short with my parents. The taste of animal blood began to disappoint, and then repulse me. I started obsessing about particular people's scents, and arranging my position in the classrooms to maximize my fulfillment. Some of the students began to notice my odd behavior, and in the case of the delectable Margaret Weiss, I had truly gone too far. She began to be afraid of me, and her scent was finally my undoing in the end. Though I never attacked her, I came frighteningly close to it one day, and that same afternoon I began fantasizing about the _taste_ of human blood. It was only a few weeks later that I finally lost all semblance of control and was forced to leave. But even at the end, could I have gotten myself back under control if I had allowed Carlisle and Esme to help me? I would never know.

And it would never happen again; I was resolved on _that_.

Now that I knew the danger, I would be even more strict with myself than I had been before the Volturi ever came. Besides that, I had learned to separate the man from the monster within me; it should be easier now to keep the latter locked away. I would fully embrace the human lifestyle that my parents espoused. I would follow Carlisle's lead, even if it meant another thousand years of high school. I was fortunate enough to have a second chance with my family, and I would not endanger my position again, for anything in the world. I could never absolve myself fully for the way I had hurt them, but I would do my best to be worthy of their love, if not their full trust.

As for absolution for my _real_ crimes… that was a mirror best unlooked in. I would accept the torment that my memories offered me, and gladly; I might never die and enter what I _truly_ deserved. For once I was thankful for my immortality! And I was also thankful that I had never found a mate. How could I ever open myself to love a woman, with all the rot and darkness I held inside me? Fate and Carlisle's choice had made me a monster, but _I_ had transformed myself into a serial killer. _I _had been the one to throw away a peaceful, enviable life in pursuit of the shadows. I couldn't even pretend to blame anyone else for that choice – not even Demetri. I had been a fool to give him even a modicum of admiration, but I couldn't really blame him for his choice in diet, or for his success in splintering me away from Carlisle. He was only following the path he had been set on. _ I_ knew better. No, I would never find a mate now; the kind of vampress I would want wouldn't be able to love me, not after she got to know me. Esme would just have to let that particular dream go, and so would I. That would be my other punishment, besides the memories- though it wouldn't be as difficult to endure. As relieved as I was to reunite with my family, I was a solitary creature.

I gave the mirror one last glance and flicked aside that stubborn lock of hair that always found my eyes. Should I let Esme give me a haircut? She had wanted to, back in the beginning, but I had rather liked the careless look that my unruly hair gave me. But perhaps I would let her do it now. It would please her, and I could let the permanent change in my appearance be the external reflection of my choice: a man who was in control, well-groomed and well-contained. Yes, I would ask her tonight; it would be my gift to her. I should have brought flowers, as well…

My gift to Carlisle would be infinitely more painful to give, and he wouldn't like it. I would give him the 1927 journal, as well as the four that I would fill in the next few days, and ask him to read them. He said he had forgiven me, but we both knew he couldn't truly offer that gift until he knew the truth- all of it. And it wasn't just forgiveness I was after- I needed his help. I was through shutting him out, for I understood now just how dangerous it was to navigate my existence on my own. If I was going to succeed at acting human again, and being any sort of decent son, I would need his guidance. And for that, I needed him to know everything.

I headed downstairs and found my piano. Now that I was alone with it, I laid my fingers gently on the keys, and my chest swelled with hope. I began playing, and I was at peace for the first time in four years- truly at peace. No matter how dark my nature was, or how depraved my choices, I couldn't deny the beauty that enveloped me when I played. My eyes were closed as I shifted into one of my favorites, _Claire de Lune_ by Debussy. I felt my eyebrows lift as the first notes swirled in the air around me, and my heart ached with happiness as I finally accepted the greatest gift I had ever received: I was home.


	10. Father and Son

By the time Friday morning came, we had most of our belongings packed in boxes. I was playing my piano for the last time; we were donating it to a local school instead of trying to move it across the country. I knew it was silly to mourn something like an instrument, but this had been my first piano, and I held the final chord, not wanting it to end. When the music faded beyond even my hearing, I ran my fingers silently across the keys, and closed the lid reverently. Carlisle had assured me we would get another in New York, and I was also planning to try the violin once we reached our new home. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I thought about which pieces I would like to learn first, and smiled when the troublesome lock of hair fell into my eyes.

When Carlisle and Esme had returned home from the hospital four days ago, I asked Esme if she would give me the haircut, but she refused. "This is the face I waited to see for four years," she said tenderly as she reached up and touched my hairline. "Don't ask me to change it now."

I finally stood up from the piano, nodding farewell to it as I began to hear fragments of my parents' thoughts; they were almost home from Carlisle's last day of work. Carlisle was thinking about me.

_-really haven't had a chance to talk to him alone since he returned. Maybe I'll ask him to hunt with just me when we get home. He's been awfully quiet so far._

Actually, I had been reclusive, but not for the same reason as before. I had spent most of my time in my room, hunched over my desk as I filled the four journals that Carlisle had bought me. As much as I hated to write the detailed account of my actions, it had a cleansing effect on my mind. I had just finished this morning, and was looking for the right time to give them to Carlisle privately; I wasn't sure if Esme should read them. A father-son hunt seemed like just the thing, and as Carlisle's thoughts grew louder in my mind, I headed up to my room and gathered the journals into a satchel.

When the front door opened, Carlisle startled to see me standing ready, arms crossed casually, leaning against the banister. "What are you waiting for?" I grinned. "Our luncheon reservation is for eleven."

Esme looked with confusion at Carlisle, who was smiling back at me. _I had forgotten how handy your gift is when I'm trying to plan something. _"If it's all right with you, dear, I think I'll take Edward on a hunt while you finish packing up."

"Of course. You two have a good time." She pulled his shoulder down to kiss him goodbye and we were off, laughing as we raced into the heart of the forest.

.

.

.

We found a pair of elk grazing about fifty miles in, and each took one. When I had finished, I was looking around for a good hiding spot, when Carlisle called me over. He had rolled aside a huge boulder, and was holding it in position, nodding toward the crater that was left behind. His elk was already in it, and I tossed mine in as well. He released the boulder and it rolled back into place with a resounding _thud_.

"Don't tell me you brought your own silverware," joked Carlisle, eyeing the satchel I had slung over my shoulder.

"No, it's a gift for you. I thought it was a good time, since we were alone."

He caught the gravity in my tone, and sat down on the boulder, patting the spot next to him. I sat down, and pulled the journals out of my bag. Carlisle drew in his breath when he realized what I was doing. _Edward, you don't have to do this._

"Yes, I do," I said softly. "I need you to understand… I need you to know what happened. What I did, and how I got there. Carlisle, I'm grateful that you and Esme have accepted me back. But before I move on with you, we need to be fully honest with each other. I do covet your forgiveness, but until you know everything… well, I just want you to know everything."

Carlisle nodded and opened the 1927 volume, and began reading.

I cursed my ineloquence. Why was it so much harder to speak than to write? When I had been writing all week, my pen had scarcely been able to keep up with my thoughts- and that was saying something, considering the speed at which I was able to write. The truth was, I had hardly spoken to anyone in the past four years. If I was human, my voice would now be hoarse from disuse.

Carlisle was reading as fast as he could. I suppose he wanted to get it over with, and this also helped him keep me out of his mind while he read. I sat awkwardly beside him as he turned the pages, and my hands ached for something to do. When he finished 1927, he quickly began the next, and went on in this fashion until he turned the final page that I had just written this morning. It contained the account of my return earlier this week, and my relief at their acceptance of me. He closed the journal, and laid it onto the stack with the rest. I could tell by the vibration of his thoughts that he was trying very hard not to weep, and I waited in shamed silence until he was ready to speak.

"If you had come to me," he began in a quavering voice, "if you had only come to me, I would have listened. We could have figured this out together."

He was right, of course. How much of this could have been prevented if I had only trusted him? I remembered all too well his questioning looks, the times he had stood at my bedroom door, wishing I would invite him in to talk. The times Esme had sat patiently, watching as I sat staring lifelessly at the piano keys, begging me in her mind to confide in her. The times they had seen me come home from a hunt, disheveled and angry.

"It seems you have come full circle in your conclusions," Carlisle continued in a stronger voice, "and that you are determined to avoid returning to that life forever. Am I right?"

"Yes. It will never happen again."

"How can you know that?!" he asked angrily. When he saw my fear, he lowered his voice again. "Forgive me. I see that you realize how wrong it was, and I understand the safeguards you intend to keep in place. What I mean is, how do I know that the next time you find life challenging, you won't just do this again? Retreat into yourself, refusing all help and wallowing in your introspection until the whole world is skewed in your eyes. That is _not_ the way to deal with hardship, Edward." _How many have paid for your stubbornness? With their lives? _His gaze was sharp, and I lowered my eyes in submission.

"You're right," I said quietly. "Instead of coming to you and Esme with my doubts, I took everything upon myself, and it crushed me. I promise you that I will not make that mistake again, either. You and Esme were right when you said I would never be emotionally mature. I understand now that I need your guidance in my life. I mean, if you still want me, now that you've-"

He smiled sadly. "You had my forgiveness before you ever decided to return to us, Edward. I knew what you were up to not long after you left. I confess that I did read your other journals, and your final entries from 1926 were enough to show me where you were headed. No, our love for you is unchanged. I can only repent for my part in your… failures." He winced as the word escaped his lips.

"_Your_ part?" I asked incredulously.

"I should have insisted that you talk to me. If I had been attentive enough, I would have seen earlier how unhappy you were. In the end, I recognized that you were losing control over your thirst, but I was afraid if I pushed too hard, that you would shut me out completely. I told myself that you were behaving as a normal adolescent, but I see now that it was more than that."

"I'm not so sure," I said drily. "Looking back, I am ashamed at my own petulance. I was more – no, I _am_ more like my human peers than I care to admit. The worst part was that I had no excuse; I knew from your thoughts that you only wanted to help. I suppose that's why I stayed as long as I did."

We sat in silence for a while. Carlisle was comparing my behavior to his understanding of human development, and I was ashamed to see that he reluctantly agreed with me. Supernatural issues aside, it seemed I was par for the course as far as seventeen-year-old American males went. I felt the old resentment boiling beneath the surface, but swallowed it.

"It's a good thing I'll be in high school forever," I sighed.

"Well, that's another thing I regret, actually. I believe that your boredom was one of the catalysts for your rebellion. How would you feel about attending university when we reach New York?"

I sat up straighter and a huge grin broke out across my face. "You mean it?!"

He nodded. "Edward, in some ways you really will be seventeen forever. Neither of us can deny that fact. But you have already showed remarkable maturity in your choice to return to the animal diet, and in your willingness to join our family again." I opened my mouth in protest, but he silenced me with a hand in the air between us. "I know. In some ways you were driven to return, and to repent; and we will never know how altruistic you would be without your mental abilities. Perhaps they are God's way of keeping you honest."

I held back a smirk; now was not the time to pick up our ongoing debate. "I'd love to try going to college, if you truly think I'm ready."

"I do. Let's wait until the fall semester, though. By then you should have a good level of control again." I nodded my agreement, and jumped down off the rock, replacing my journals into the satchel.

_Let's keep the journals between us. You know Esme would forgive you anyway, and there's no need to hurt her further._

"Carlisle, was it… was it very hard for her?"

He flinched and tried to scramble some control over his thoughts, but he was too late. I watched as his mind flew through memories of my mother weeping. There were hundreds of these images, though after a full second he stopped them. By the variety of Esme's clothing in the memories I could see that this had happened on hundreds of separate occasions.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I never meant to hurt her like that."

_You hurt us both, son._ I searched his eyes for condemnation, but it wasn't there. Once again, I wished for the ability to read emotions, instead of thoughts. He was meeting my gaze while we walked, and his thoughts were full of love for me, and his relief at Esme's relief.

"I think all this cogitation has given me an appetite," he said aloud suddenly. "Why don't we see if we can't find something better than elk? It's our final hunt in Montana, after all. Let's make it memorable." He winked at me and broke into a run. I was relieved at how he had lightened the mood, and I growled mischievously as I sprang forward to follow my father in the hunt.

.

.

.

Three hours and two grizzlies later, we were strolling back through the forest, discussing our plans for the drive east tomorrow. Suddenly, I was knocked off my feet by the unmistakable aroma of human blood. By the time Carlisle noticed my reaction, I was already deep in a hunting crouch, my muscles gathering for the spring. _No! _ As I leapt forward, he slammed into me from the side, and both of us crashed into the trees beside the path. "Edward, stop!" he yelled as he struggled to hold me down in the dirt. But he wasn't strong enough; I still had some of my extra strength from the human blood I had consumed before. I clenched my teeth in concentration as I tried to stop myself, but the monster had been denied too long. I felt the release as he broke free of his prison, and I roared as I threw Carlisle off of me, scrambling to my feet and taking off at a pounding run. Somewhere in the haze of desire, I heard the man's thoughts; he had come to pick up the piano.

_Dang it! Knew I should have waited for tomorrow, when Larry could have helped me. I wonder if I'll need stitches…_

_You don't want this! No!_ I begged myself to stop, but my feet wouldn't listen; they only ran faster. I could hear Carlisle falling behind, and I was barely able to choke two words out of my throat while he could still hear me: "Stop me!"

I was almost to the house now, and the whole world was red. I broke out of the woods, into the backyard, and I could see the man through the back windows now, limping through the kitchen as he asked Esme for a cloth to stop the bleeding. She had her hand covering her mouth and nose, and I could see her hand trembling. But she was all right, and she was handing him a towel with her free hand. I snarled in despair as I closed the last fifty feet up to the house. After all my efforts, I was going to kill right in front of Esme, and it would destroy her. I would jump in through the kitchen window, I would try not to hurt Esme as I landed-

"Edward, my car!" Carlisle yelled from behind me. "Get in the car, it's the only way!" At the last possible second, I wrenched myself off course and aimed for the driveway. I tore open the door and slammed it behind me, grabbing my hair in both fists and pulling as hard as I could to distract myself. I had taken three deep breaths by the time Carlisle appeared in the driver's seat beside me, and he slammed the key in the ignition, pulling the car backwards out onto the highway.

I was able to open my eyes by then, and I continued to gulp in the clean air. I took my hands out of my hair, and they were trembling as I gripped the dashboard. I couldn't speak yet; I just nodded my thanks to Carlisle, over and over.

_It's over now. What _happened_ back there? _ Carlisle slowed the car down a bit; he had pushed it to the limit and the frame was beginning to shake.

I could hardly speak around my clenched teeth. "The piano mover decided to come a day early. He dropped one end of it, and one of the feet scraped his leg on the way down."

"Is Esme all right?"

"Yes. He's almost got the bleeding stopped now." Through Esme's eyes, I was watching the blood trickle around the man's hand as he pressed the red-stained towel to his leg. I could sell it at full force now, through her mind. We were still less than a mile away, and my hand twitched toward the door handle; it would be so easy to leap out and go back…

No.

I took one, final, cleansing breath and finally relaxed my jaw. "Thank you. Let's stay out still he's gone, please."

"Of course." _Well done, Edward. I truly didn't think you'd make it to the car._

"Neither did I." Now that I could think again, I was appalled at what I had almost done, but I was also baffled. In all my years of hunting humans, I had _never_ lost control like that. In fact, one of the reasons I was glad to be back on the animal diet was that because of the isolation of where I hunted, I was able to completely lose myself in the frenzy. I hadn't been able to do this with my human prey; I was always inside the city limits, and I knew that once I let go, I would never be able to stop with the particular human I had chosen to hunt. Would it always be like this? What if I had permanently made myself unable to live among humans? What kind of life could I have with my parents if I couldn't-

"Edward…" Carlisle said with a warning tone, "you're doing it again. Talk to me."

He was right; this was exactly the kind of situation where I needed his advice. "I don't understand. When I hunted before – humans, I mean – it was never like that. I never lost control, not once."

He shrugged. "I think that it's to be expected, at least for a while. You're like a newborn right now. Only this time you know what it's like to indulge, and you've denied your appetite for two months now. Your last taste of human blood was recent enough that your instincts react naturally to the aroma, and it was long ago enough that your body feels starved for it."

"Well, that… makes sense," I admitted.

"Anyway, that's why I scheduled the movers to come tomorrow, after we left. I'm sorry, son- I should have scouted ahead before you got so close to home." _I'm so proud of you, though. I can't imagine how difficult it was to stop._

I nodded my thanks.

"We'll get through this," he continued. "It'll take some work and some care, but I still believe you'll be ready to attend university this fall."

"I don't know about that."

"Well, let's just take it one day at a time." _And anytime you are struggling, you _will_ come to me._

"Agreed."

As we rolled down the highway, I smiled at the hope rising within me, replacing the madness as it faded more with every breath. The monster was back in his cage, sulking in defeat… for now. Tomorrow, we would be in the car again, heading east toward our new home. And with my family at my side, everything would be all right.

The future was bright again. I rolled down the window, and after a small, cautious breath, I leaned out into the breeze, and lifted my face toward the sun.

**The End**

**A/N: Well, that's it for 1931. After this, the mood will be lightening a bit as we start meeting the other Cullens. The first chapter of ****_Tale of Years: 1933_**** is already posted; Enjoy!**


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